Shakespeare Made Easy: Hamlet
by ArtemisEpona
Summary: Ever get frustratingly confused by Shakespeare? Well, this is the play of the tragic Hamlet put into novel form for the Shakespeareanly challenged or for those who just love Shakespeare!
1. The Ghost

**Chapter 1: The Ghost**

A long time ago, before you were born, there was a prince whose father had died in the prime of his life . . .

On the castle battlements of Elsinore, a jumpy guardsman stood watch, shivering in the rising fog and rubbing his gloved hands together in the hope of gathering heat between them. The hour was late, and he was desperately eager to be relieved of his shift as it was always during this hour when the strange apparition chose to wander the castle's battlements, clanking and moaning and gliding past in the pale and shivery form of a man.

And so Fransico shivered and shifted from foot to foot, blowing occasionallly on his hands and rubbing them briskly together as he cradled the long staff of his spear in the crook of his arm. There was a thump and a sudden cry of pain rang across the battlements, echoing into the still night air.

Fransico leapt three feet on the spot and squeaked in a shamefully strained voice, "Who's there?"

"No,_ you_ answer _me _-- who are you?" replied a deep and brisk voice familiar to Fransico. And yet, for all its familiarity, the voice was bodiless. Was the ghost of the castle battlements playing tricks on Fransico's mind?

Fransico, terrified still, dropped his partisan with a clatter to the stone flags of the battlements and lifted his hands nervously, "Long live the king?"

"Fransico?" called the voice, full of incredulous laughter.

Fransico felt his heart sink. "Bernardo?" he groaned, knowing he would never live this down.

"It is he." Grinning widely, Bernardo stepped out of the fog and sheathed his sword again. "Are you so easily startled, you great coward?" he asked his friend, clapping his arm hard.

"I'd be a fool if I wasn't," Fransico snapped grumpily, gathering his partisan. "You're right on time, Bernardo."

"Aye, it should be twelve now," agreed Bernardo, nodding. "Get you to bed, Fransico -- you seem to have more need than I." He laughed again.

Fransico chose to ignore the last comment and said, "Much thanks, brother. It's too cold for a body out here, and I am weary and sick at heart."

"Have you had a quiet watch, then?"

"I have, thank god. Not a mouse stirring."

"Good. I anticpate the same," said Bernardo with satisfaction. "Now get you to bed -- Oh! And if you see those sloths Horatio and Marcellus, tell them to hurry up, damn them. What loyal guardsman is late for his watch? They make a mockery of their captain!"

"Wait -- I think I hear them," answered Fransico, looking relieved that he would be joined by even more men. It seemed to him that thick company would keep the ghost at bay, and he welcomed the sight of Horatio and Marcellus strolling at their leisure out of the shifting fog toward he and Bernardo.

"Make haste, ruffians!" Bernardo barked, frowning.

"Peace, Bernardo, peace," chuckled Horatio. "We are friends to these grounds."

"And to Dane," added Marcellus, grinning rogouishly in the face of Bernardo's disapproval. "I think I know why Bernardo is anxious to have company anyway," he taunted.

Fransico started as if he did not like the turn of the conversation. "I leave you now," he said quickly, glancing around with shifty eyes, as if he feared the ghost would suddenly spring up from the flagstones.

"Oh! Are you relieved?" Marcellus asked.

"In more ways than one," chuckled Bernardo. "He wet his leggings when I came, this one."

The others laughed, and Fransico said grumpily, "I give you good night!" and stalked away.

"Welcome, men," Bernardo said to the newcomers, still glowering his disapproval. "So Horatio is here at last, is he?"

"A piece of him," Horatio joked. "So what was with Fransico? Has the supposed spirit appeared again tonight?"

"Nay," said Bernardo, chuckling and shaking his head. "I have seen nothing. Besides, you know how Fransico is."

"Horatio says tis but our fantasy," teased Marcellus, as if goading his friend on an oft-debated subject. "And that cold and suffering on the castle's cruel battlements makes our imaginations run wild, so I asked him along to witness the apparition for himself."

"_Please_," said Horatio, rolling his eyes. "Tis but vain fantasy, my brothers, nothing more. The both of you are merely bored and seek to invent wild stories with which to entertain the fair wenches at feasts."

"If that were our reason for the story, you'd think a man would have had more women in the hay!" said Bernardo, laughing with Marcellus. "But tis true, brother," he said gravely to Horatio. "What Fransico feared and leapt ten feet in the air to avoid was the ghost of a man."

"Go on, Bernardo," said Horatio, wearily resigned to humor his friends. He leaned on the battlements with great amusement, as if watching a spectacular show. "What of this supposed ghost, hmm?"

Bernardo breathed deeply and a white puff hissed from his pale and shivering lips as he said in a dramatically low voice, "Last night, when Marcellus and myself here stood and the North Star made its course to shine where it now does shine -- "

"Peace! Peace!" cried Marcellus in a voice that trembled. "Look! It comes again!"

A low doleful moan filled the air like the swelling howl of the wind, and the men trembled and drew close, staring with wide eyes as a middle-aged man in ragged armor glided forth. The ghost's face was drawn miserably, his pale and colorless eyes staring vacant and unseeing, and his arms dangling at his sides. His face was lined, haggard, and gray, and his eyes rolled in his head as he moaned again even louder than before.

"The figure of the late king himself!" whispered Bernardo, quivering so hard that his sword clattered against his armor.

"You're a scholar -- speak to it, Horatio," Marcellus hissed fearfully, prodding his friend in the spine.

For a moment, Horatio stood pasty, shocked, and pale and said nothing. Then, quivering with cold sweat, he whispered in a strangled voice, "Nay, not I! It harrows me with fear to the very morrow of my being!" and the three men trembled and wailed afresh as the ghost gave another loud and doleful moan.

"But it would speak to a learned man!" protested Bernardo.

"Aye, aye," added Marcellus. "Question it, Horatio!"

Horatio gulped but called bravely, "What are you that tramps the night in the warlike form of our late king? By heaven I charge you, speak!"

"It is offended," said Marcellus and Bernardo added in much relief, "Good, it stalks away . . ."

"No -- stay!" cried Horatio, trembling still with sweat but (after having gotten over the first nasty shock) suddenly eager to learn more of the ghost. Could this ghost tell him of heaven? Hell? What happened when we died? "Stay! Speak! _Speak_, I charge you!"

But the ghost merely turned and glided away out of sight.

"Tis gone and will not answer," said Marcellus, wiping his brow with much relief.

The men sighed and drew apart again, adjusting themselves and not meeting one another's eye.

"How now, Horatio?" said Bernardo, chuckling nervously as he drew shaky breaths. "You're as pale as a witch's tit and you tremble like her very victim! Was that not something more than vain fantasy?"

"Before god," vowed Horatio, shaking still, his eyes fixed in disbelief on the spot on which the ghost had vanished, "I can not deny what my eyes so sensibly drank in -- my god! Before mine own eyes!"

"And was it not like the late king?" ventured Marcellus breathlessly, looking at his companion. "Like the old king himself!"

"Aye," answered Horatio. "Such was the very armor he wore against Norway and so frowned he once. Tis strange," he said shakily. "Very strange."

"And we've seen him twice before," Marcellus said with a nod, "at this very hour upon these very battlements."

"It seems we've made a believer of our scholar," said Bernardo, amused.

"Aye, and let us learn from the learned man why at such an hour in the dead of night the ghost of our late king doth so sullenly saluteth us!" added Marcellus, turning to Horatio, who was deep in thought. "Can you inform us?"

"That I can," Horatio said thoughtfully, and his companions raised their eyebrows in surprise. "The ghost is nothing more than a terrible omen: Denmark is headed for some trouble, my brothers."

Bernardo and Marcellus exchanged expressions of dread.

"As mighty Julius fell and fire and blood rained the Roman streets, so shall happen in Denmark, I fear," further ventured Horatio.  
"But soft! Here it comes again!"

And once more, the pearly white and transparent figure appeared, gliding gently through the wall, its vacant eyes rolling sorrowfully and its miserable cheeks sunken in.

"I'll stop it," Horatio said quickly and dashed into the ghost's path. "Stay, illusion, and speak to me! What of our country's fate? Speak of it to me!"

"Shall I strike it?" cried Marcellus, rushing in with his partisan.

"Do so if -- where did it go?" Horatio cried, confused.

"Tis there! Tis there!" Bernardo pointed with his partisan to the ghost, which was vanishing into the battlement wall again.

"Tis gone," moaned Marcellus, this time with some regret. "We do it wrong to offer it violence," he said, glancing regretfully at his partisan. "And our vain blows make a mockery of us."

"No, it was not us that offended it," said Horatio in wonder, his voice full of the wisdom of the learned man his friends had named him. "Didn't you see? It looked guilty -- like a child out past its bedtime -- and slunk away at the call of day!"

And indeed, the sun was rising.

"They say," said Marcellus curiously, "that no spirit dareth stir wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, for the bird of dawning singeth all night long . . . and during its singing . . . no witch hath power, no fairy taketh human child, and no planets strike. All is peace."

The men paused to ponder these things and to watch the golden dawn spread its rosy fingers over the rim of the black bowl that was the sky.

Then Horatio heaved a pensive sigh and answered, "So I've heard, Marcellus, and so do I believe. But look, it is the morrow and so our watch is up. We shall have to tell Hamlet of what we have witnessed here to tonight, for, on my life, I am most certain the ghost will speak to him -- and to him alone."

"Well spoken," said Marcellus, eager for the apparition to have no more cause to haunt his watch. "And I know where Hamlet is likely to be this good morrow."

And the three men departed inpursuit of their lord, weary and tired and spent by the night's horrors.


	2. The King, Your Father

**Chapter 2: The King, Your Father**

In the great and drafty halls of Elsinore's castle, King Claudius strolled arm in arm with his wife, the Queen Gertrude. Following where his councillors: Voltimond, Cornelius, Polonius, and Polonuis's son Laertes.

Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, followed in the rear, dressed all in black and watching his uncle's back darkly. He was a man of regular height, in his mid-twenties, with curly brown hair and dark green, shrewd eyes. These past two months had been the darkest of his young life and yet it seemed to him that the pain of losing his father had not dulled with time but intesified. His heart was an open wound, a constant ache that pained him everytime he breathed.

As comfort, Hamlet had written often to Ophelia and visited her as she knitted beside the warm fire. In his grief, Ophelia's love had been a refuge, her smile like a ray of sunlight warming his dark and weary heart. He could tell anything to Ophelia, anything at all. They'd known each other all of their lives and had grown up childhood friends. He coud still remember that bittersweet day when he'd left for school in Wittenburg. She had cried through her laughter at his departure and sent him many fervent, tear-stained letters during his education.

His reunion with Ophelia was the one good thing about Hamlet's trip back to Elsinore.

Hamlet was thinking of Ophelia now as the king came to a stop, turning to adress his court. His state business complete, Claudius sent Voltimond and Cornelius on their way hence forth to Norway with a message for its king.

". . . and now," continued Claudius, stroking his short gray beard, "young Laertes, what is this news you speak of? You blather about some suit or other until you lose your voice. You haven't any need to beg, my boy. What do you ask of me?"

"Your leave that I may return to France, my lord," answered Laertes eagerly. "All my thoughts and wishes bend toward it!"

"What says your father? Polonius?" boomed the king.

"He has my blessing," answered the king's short, bent old councillor. "I do beseech thee, sire, to give him leave."

"Then go, Laertes, with my blessing," the king answered and Laertes beamed at his father. "And now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son -- "

"More_ kin_ and less _kind_," Hamlet muttered grimly.

"How is it the clouds have not parted?" Claudius boomed, grinning. "Tis two months since thy father's great misfortune," he said, putting on a grave face, "and you sulk around still, cloaked in such a deep black as would flatter night!"

"Good Hamlet," said the Queen gently and laid a hand of concern on her son's arm, "do not go on forever so. All that live must die -- it is a common fate for all men, passing through nature into eternity.

"Aye, madam, it is common," Hamlet said in a low voice, his eyes averted.

"Why do you seem so particular?" the Queen begged, frowning desperately at her melonchly son.

_Particular!_ Hamlet thought in disgust, as if his father were a veggetable on his plate that he was loath to eat! _Particular!_ as if the late king's death had been a trifling thing! He looked at Claudius's grave expression and knew the man was studying him.

"Seems!" Hamlet spat moodily, staring at his mother as if he hardly recognized her. "_Seems_, madam? Nay, I do not _seem_, but I _am_. Wearing black is but at action that a man may make before all men's eyes . . ." and here his eyes lingered darkly on the king, who stared hard inturn at his nephew. "But my actions express from within what is only begetting after two month's grievance: the suit of woe."

"Ah, it is your nature to be so sweet and pay your father such honor," prompted Claudius, heaping on the flattery with narrowed, calculating eyes. If Hamlet suspected him, it was best he kept the boy close to his heart and in his favor."But, Hamlet, as your mother says: death is a common thing. You lost a father, and that father also lost his, and so it must go on."

"Aye, I look forward to that cycle repeating itself, _Father_," Hamlet muttered under his breath derisively.

Claudius blinked angrily, "What did you say, my cousin?" And when Hamlet did not answer, "Hamlet, we do beseech you -- do not return to school in Wittenburg but remain here, our son."

"I pray thee," added the Queen in earnest, "let it be so?" Her long pale fingers clawed at Hamlet's sleeve as if to make sure he was real, "I would miss you so . . . were you to leave again . . ." Her lip trembled and she bit it to hide the show of emotion from her husband.

"I shall do my best to obey you, madam," Hamlet answered a little coldly, and the Queen stared at him, stung. Hamlet, feeling guilty, looked her in the eye and managed a small smile, beneath which she seemed to melt and smiled in turn.

"A loving and a fair reply," boomed Claudius as Gertrude embraced Hamlet's stiffened body in her thin arms. "Your kindness to your mother siteth well on my heart. Come, madam, away." He gently untangled Gertrude from Hamlet's grasp.

Gertrude composed herself and smiled through the shimmer of rising tears in her blue eyes. She was a fair, very pale woman, thin and middle-aged like her king. Her hair was long and dirty blonde, trailing when it was loose down the back of her knees. Though her late husband had only been deceased for two months, she was dressed as festively as if Claudius had always been her king, and strolled away with him now, clinging to his arm and laughing.

Hamlet watched them go, his teeth set as Claudius carressed the back of one of his mother's small ears.

"Oh god!" Hamlet roared suddenly, banging the flat of his fist on the wall. "God! God! How weary and flat, how _dismal_ is all the world when ones uncle becomes ones father and ones mother becomes like unto a stranger! Who is she that walks now on my uncle's arm, laughing as if all were well? Cares she not for her husband -- her _real_ husband? Cares she not for her son!" He struck the wall again and pressed his eyes to his fist, silently crying in a private moment of anger and pain.

"Off and married in as little as a month! And my father?" whispered Hamlet in a low growl, raising his head as his uncle and his mother turned from the long stone corridor into the sunlight. "My father? Forgotten by her as quickly as last night's desert! By heaven and earth, what incest is this, that she should love my father's brother so? Gaveth she ever an eye of favor to him before?" Hamlet wondered aloud, and paused as he tried to recall any strange behavior between his mother and his uncle in the brief visits he had given Elsinore during his schooling.

"Hail to your lordship!"

Hamlet turned, and a smile broke through the tears on his face: Horatio was appraoching with two guardsmen. He recognized them as Bernardo and young Marcellus.

Horatio, tall and dark, raised his hand in greeting and beamed at Hamlet. "How now, brother?" he said, laughing, as he and Hamlet clasped hands. He noticed with a frown of concern the dried tears on Hamlet's face, "Who has been plaguing my lord? I will take care of them -- "

"Wait, wait," laughed Hamlet, wiping his face and grabbing Horatio's arm to stop him charging off. "My vexor is none that _you_ can plague, dear Horatio. But come, what came you for? I am glad to see you are well."

"And I you," Horatio answered sincerely.

"Marcellus?" said Hamlet, squinting as if he'd only just noticed the guardsmen, "Bernardo? Came you out of thin air?"

The guardsmen laughed.

"But what, in faith, drew you from Wittenburg?" Hamlet asked Horatio yet again. "Come now, Horatio, playing hooky doesn't much suit you! And to think, I never would have pegged you for a truant."

"_You _drew me, of course, my lord," said Horatio in mild astonishment, as if Hamlet should have guessed as much. "I came to see your father's funeral -- and to support my lord and brother, of course."

Hamlet chuckled, "Do not mock me -- you came to see my mother's wedding."

"It loomed soon upon the funeral, didn't it?" said Horatio grimly. "Rather hurried, I thought."

"Ah, thrift! Thrift! You came for succulent pies and pastes, baked meat and foamy beer, did you not?" joked Hamlet.

Horatio laughed but asked with an indignant frown, "Do you question my friendship, brother?"

"Never," Hamlet replied. "But I would I met my dearest foe in heaven than ever have witnessed that day, Horatio! Sometimes . . . I think I see my father . . ."

"My lord?" Horatio asked uncertainly.

"In my mind's eye, I mean," explained Hamlet.

"I saw him once. He was a good king," Horatio said, gazing off as if in his own reverie, and he and the guardsmen shivered. No, he'd seen the late king twice: once in life, once in death.

"My lord . . ." began Horatio uncertainly, then cleared his throat and went on, "my lord, I think I saw him yesternight -- _we_ saw him."

Hamlet looked up quickly, "Saw who?"

"My lord, the king your father."

There was a pause as Hamlet stared at the men, his mouth open, then he frowned and asked angrily, "The king, my father? Do you mock me?"

The guardsmen gasped and shook their heads quickly.

"No, brother, in all honesty, we saw the king, your father," said Horatio firmly. "Be still your anger and wonder and attend to our story . . ."

"For the love of god, tell me!" strained Hamlet, his eyes suddenly wide and alert.

Horatio related to Hamlet in greatest detail the appearance and reappearance of the late king's spirit on the battlements. The guardsmen jumped in at different places, adding their own details, and thus, the whole tale was delivered to Hamlet, who listened to all of it in grim wonder, a chill running up his spine.

"And did you speak to it?" Hamlet wanted to know.

"My lord, I did, but it made no answer," replied Horatio helplessly. "Just before dawn, it raised its head and frowned as if it would speak -- "

"Then the cock crowed and it vanished!" added Marcellus, nodding.

". . . .Tis all very strange . . . ." muttered Hamlet, frowning into the distance.

"Upon my life, every word of it is true," said Horatio seriously.

"Hold you the watch tonight?" Hamlet asked with sudden animation.

"We do, my lord," answered Bernardo and Marcellus.

"I will watch with you tonight, and perchance it shall return," Hamlet told them.

"I doubt it not," confirmed Horatio, "when it has walked the earth two nights previous."

"I'll speak to this apparition though hell itself should open beneath it! Upon the battlements, between eleven and twelve, I'll visit you."

"Our duty to your honor," said the guardsmen, bowing.

"And mine," said Horatio, smiling and giving Hamlet a small bow.

Hamlet nodded, "Your love's as mine to you. Farewell."

Horatio clapped Hamlet on the shoulder and the men departed.

"My father's spirit!" Hamlet whispered to himself in great consternation. "All can not be well. I doubt it not foul play is involved: would that it were night already! Be still weary heart! I shall see my father again this night!"


	3. A Lesson in Obediance

**Chapter 3: A Lesson in Obediance**

Ophelia had never much understood why men were always so eager to rule over women, but had always been taught by her father not to give it much thought. It was the way the world worked: ladies belonged to their lords, and that was that. But her Hamlet? No! For surely with Hamlet it was the other way around. The Prince of Denmark had always treated her like a person, with kindess and respect, and had eaten out of her hand for the very favor of a smile since their youth.

"Do you ignore me, my sister?" Laertes demanded crossly, and Ophelia stirred guiltily, realizing that she must've been daydreaming yet again.

Ophelia and her brother were strolling arm in arm alonga pathway on the moor. They were heading home, for Laertes was to depart to France soon. She could see already the battlements surrounding the fortress of the castle keep and could smell too the muck and stink of the muddy and manuer-strewn road.

"I heard you, my brother," answered Ophelia meekly.

"You did not," Laertes accused sharply. "You've been such a featherhead oft of late that I beseeched you to write me. Let me hear from you!"

"Do you doubt that you would?"

"Aye, and not only that, but Hamlet's trifling love! Beware, my sister. He holds you in passion like a new and beloved toy that is soon forgotten once twisted and broken. His love is but a fancy, not permenant, not sweet, not lasting. It will thrive as long as the flowers that are here today and gone tomorrow in our Lord's tale. A trifle. Nothing more."

"And you should know much of trifles," said Ophelia sullenly.

Laertes gave her a filthy look, "What is becoming for a man is not becoming for a woman! A bee may leap from this flower to that -- but the flower may not roam from bee to bee!"

"Hyprocritical nonsense," sniffed Ophelia, lifting her skirts to avoid a pile of horse droppings as they entered thefortress gates. "Hamlet's love is honest and true and he hath need of me right now -- did not his father die mere months ago?"

"You are a toy to him, nothing more," declared Laertes stubbornly. "And he will break you because you are too dull and foolish to see reason! No matter. I have spoken to Father about this, and he shall take care of the matter."

Ophelia scowled at Laertes and pulled away from him, "How dare you! How _dare_ you go behind my back to entreat of our father about a matter which doesn't concern you?"

"You speak too forwardly, Ophelia, and your tongue warrants a good slapping," warned her brother, then took her arm again and said gently, "I did all for the best. Our father is a wise man and has known Hamlet as long as you. He will discern the man's heart. But look you! I depart very soon, and I would like our last meeting to bring a sweet smile to my lips -- kiss me, fair sister, for I linger too long!"

Ophelia gave her brother a dutiful kiss on both cheeks and smiled reluctantly when he tweaked her nose. She wanted to be angry with him for what she felt was a betrayal against her and against Hamlet, but all anger melted away under Laertes's happy, boyish smile, and she suddenly threw her arms around his neck.

"I will write to you," she said into his ear, her long black hair flowing loosely down her back. "And keep your lesson close to my heart. Perhaps you know something of Hamlet that I do not. But do your sister justice and reck not your own rede!" and she drew away again and gave her brother a good-natured look of suspicion.

It was no secret that Laertes slept with many women abroad and made them such trifles as he claimed Hamlet was doing to her.

"I stay too long," said Laertes, uncomfortably aware that a blush was creeping hotly up his neck. "And here our father comes -- Hail, Father!"

A bent old man with ashort gray beard was scurrying toward them through the muddy confusion of the streets.

"Abroad, abroad, Laertes! For shame!" scolded Polonius good-naturedly. "Here you beg for France and yet you linger. Remember you, my son: give every man your ear but not your voice and to thy own self be true, hmm? Farewell," he said, clasping his son's face in both hands. "And with my blessing, go -- " and he kissed Laertes on both cheeks and held him close.

"Most humbly do I take my leave," Laertes said, holding his father's and his sister's hands in each of his own. He smiled at them, lingering still, until Ophelia reached up and playfully slapped him lightly on the cheek.

"Go, my brother, and god bless you!"

Laertes grinned, "Farewell, Ophelia, and remember what I have said to you."

Ophelia merely perched her lips in a mischeviously puckered smile and attempted an obediant nod.

Laertes narrowed his eyes at her but said, "Farewell," and was gone.

"What's this, Ophelia, that he hath said to you?" Polonius wanted to know as he took his daughter's arm and led her toward their home.

Both his children were taller than he, but Polonius was a man of sound body. Though his back was bent, his hands and arms were strong, and he literally led Ophelia rather than the other way around.

Ophelia hated his iron grasp and resisted squirming away as she answered mysteriously, "So please you, some vulgar gossip about Hamlet. Nothing more." Her lips quivered in a secret smile as she quoted her brother's words of warning.

Polonius pressed her hand hard, a warning that she quit her sauciness, for the girl had might as well have told him to mind his own business. "Tis told me that the two of you have given each other private time together quite oft of late -- _too_ oft. What is between the two of you? Yield your secrets to your father and lord."

Ophelia ground her teeth angrily. He treated her like a child! It was maddening! Here she was, one-and-twenty, and yet she was not allowed to have secrets, to have lovers, to have a life of her own! No, she was only allowed to sit by the fire, spin, and wait on her wrenched father and brother, which behoofed a royal councillor's daughter.

Perhaps if we traded places for a day he would mark the utter meaninglessness of my life, thought Ophelia and answered stiffly, "As you know, my lord Hamlet has recently suffered a great loss, and, as you also know, I have been his best friend since childhood. I count it not odd that a friend should comfort a friend."

"Your saucy tongue rouses my disapproval, daughter, and you speak too much!" Polonius flared as they reached their rooms within the court. "Don't give me this nonsense about grief and comfort -- you think you love him and he is trifling with you!"

"He hath made many tenders of affection to me," said Ophelia, stiffly still.

"Affections! Bah!" cried Polonius, seating himself with a groan beside the cold hearth. He gathered a chunk of bread and took a great bite. "You speak like a featherhead virgin who knows nothing of men, and perhaps that is good," her father said thickly aroundhis mouthful of bread.

Ophelia scowled as she bent over the fire to build it, her black hair falling like a veil across her face. And whose fault was it that she had gone unmarried for so long? A virgin for so long? she thought viciously.

"Do you believe these 'tenders' as you call them?" inquired her father, and she felt his eyes wander to her back.

"I do not know what to believe, my lord," Ophelia lied, but she knew very well that Hamlet loved her dearly, and she him.

"Then, by Mary, I shall teach you," her father said with a righteous nod. "Don't mistake his affection for something else, daughter. Guard yourself more dearly and thus, you shall not tender me a fool."

"He has courted me in honorable fashion," Ophelia replied, almost growling as she straightened up and lifted her chin.

"Aye, and a _fashion_ one might call it!" snapped her father. "Do you honestly think it will last long? That he will want you still when, being a prince, he could take any woman to his bed?"

"His bed has not been rumpled by any woman, save one," Ophelia said, turning away, and heard the chair clatter to the floor as her father rose with sudden violence behind her and wrenched her around by the arm.

"Did you let him touch you?" he demanded, spit flying from his mouth as he shook his daughter. "Did you? By god, I'll send you to a nunnery if you say yea!"

He shook Ophelia until her teeth bit her tongue, and she reached up with both hands and grabbed her father's arms, begging as blood dribbled over her lips that he stop. Blinded by the hair tumbling into her eyes,Ophelia could only catch glimpses of his white teeth flashing as he screamed, "Did you? Did you?"

"No!" Ophelia sobbed. "No -- it was a lie!" and no sooner had she spoken than Polonius smacked her hard across the face, and she fell to the rough stone floor, sobbing.

"How dare you lie to me," Polonius hissed breathlessly, shuffling back to his chair and putting it to rights as he glared at his daughter. "How dare you! Not before Hamlet began his low trifling did you ever _ever _dare -- " He broke off and nodded as if Ophelia's behavior had confirmed something. "Do not believe his vows, daughter. Believe only so much in him that he is young and with greater freedom may he walk than a lady. Do not, from this time forth, slander my name by dallying anymore with Hamlet and his false love."

Ophelia, her head hung, ground her teeth under the covering veil of her black hair but said in the meekest voice she could muster, "I shall obey, my lord."


	4. I Am Thy Father's Spirit

**Chapter 4: I Am Thy Father's Spirit**

On the castle battlements, Hamlet and his men waited in the bitter hours of the night, shivering against the cold wind and blowing their hands as the twelvth hour approached.

"The air is biting," Hamlet complained, rubbing the backs of his arms.

"Aye, twas twice as biting the night before," Horatio remarked.

"What hour now?" the prince wanted to know.

"I think it a little before twelve -- " began Horatio, but Marcellus shook his head, "No, tis struck."

"Indeed? I heard it not," said Horatio. "Then it's almost time -- the spirit will soon be upon us." He squinted at Hamlet uncertainly, "Are you very certain about this, my lord? I and Marcellus here have braved this shadowy creature and endured to tell the tale, but what if this ghost revealed itself a demon and carried us off to hell?"

Hamlet laughed sarcatically. "Horatio! Twas_ you_ who involved me in the first place! I have one mother too many, it seems."

Horatio chuckled sheepishly. "But you do not understand, my lord," he said, frowning, "for you have not seen this apparition with your own eyes. Shall I stand by and let it draw you into madness?"

"You shall if your prince and lord commands it," Hamlet answered, smiling. "Peace, Horatio," he said, clapping his friend's shoulder good-naturedly. "I was driven into madness long before this night."

Horatio opened his mouth to protest, but a low, doleful moan rang through the battlements, and the men trembled and gripped their partisans tightly.

"It comes! It comes!" moaned Marcellus, his knees knocking.

"Where?" hissed Hamlet, straightening up.

Horatio pointed, "There, my lord!"

The pale and haggard face of a man in armor loomed trough the darkness. The likeness of the late king fixed its colorless eyes on Hamlet, and moaned dolefully once more.

"It -- it beckons you, as if it desired some confidence with you!" stammered Horatio, clasping Hamlet's arm fast as his friend sought to move forward. "Do not follow it -- I beg of you!"

"Do not go with it," begged Marcellus, quaking. "Its eyes are those of the very devil!"

"Buy why? And what came I here for then?" demanded Hamlet crossly. "And why should I fear he who is but my father? I feared him little in life and will fear him even less in death -- " and he started forward again, but his men stepped forward and held him fast, begging that he stay with them and follow not the apparition.

"But what if it only leads you to some steep summit where you may fall to your death?" implored Horatio. "Or what if, once it has you alone, it turns into some dreadful creature and drags you away -- "

"Go on, I will follow thee," said Hamlet, nodding to the hovering apparition, and the haggard and bent late king turned and drifted mournfully up the large stone steps.

"Now, good men, I command you: hold off your hands!" Hamlet growled impatiently. "And leave me to speak with he who is my father."

"Be ruled by us: you shall not go!" said Horatio stubbornly.

"My fate beckons me!" Hamlet snapped at them. "_Beckons_ with a haggard and unseemly eye! Unhand me, gentlemen, and let fate take its course -- Go on," he added to the ghost that waited on the stairs with yet another nod, "I will follow thee."

And Hamlet broke from his nervous, quaking men and followed the grim and weary ghost up the flight of large stone steps.

Horatio and Marcellus hovered nervously, watching the strange pair disappear.

"Let's have after," Horatio said to Marcellus, who nodded and followed him as Hamlet had followed the ghost.

When Hamlet reached the top of the large stone steps, the ghostly apparition stood wearily against the battlements leaning on one arm like a man out of breath after a rough climb. His appearance was suddenly as solid as if he were living, and Hamlet was shocked by the substantial quality of the ghost's wrinkly face and scarred skin: it was as if his father were standing before him, alive.

"Will you not speak to me?" choked Hamlet, advancing carefully. He could feel already the tears rising to his eyes, but in the intensity of the moment, was too numb to shed them. "Will you not speak to me here? We can venture no further."

"Listen carefully to me," the ghost said, waving a weary hand and straightening up. He was as tall and imposing as he had been in life, his graying hair wilted as if with sweat and the bags under his eyes punctured with the fine lines of age.

Hamlet nodded, his mouth open. "I will."

"The hour is almost come . . . when to those tormenting flames I must return . . ."

"Alas," moaned Hamlet, closing his eyes and swallowing. "Poor wrenched ghost! Is hell your prison-house of pain?"

"Pity me not," said the ghost, and something mournful flickered in its eyes. "Only listen, and hear what I have to say."

"Speak; I am bound to hear."

"And so art thou bound to revenge, when thou shalt hear."

"What?" said Hamlet sharply.

The ghost drew a long breath, and Hamlet was shocked to see the pearly mist exhaled from its mouth into the cold night air.

"I am your father's spirit," the ghost said gravely. "Doomed for a certain term to walk the night, and during the day to suffer in the mist of eternal fire until the crimes done in my day are purged. Were I not forbidden, I could tell a tale of the tortures of my prison-house that would freeze thy young blood and make thine hair stand on end much like the fretful quills of a porcupine. . . ." He drew yet another low, weary breath and moaned miserably, "List, list, _O list_!" and his long and wrinkled hand lifted in a pleading gesture, "If thou didst thy dear father ever love -- "

Hamlet reached out for the offered hand as if to grasp it desperately in his own, not only for his father's comfort but for his own comfort as well, and felt an icy shiver run down his spine as his fingers plunged through it. "_Oh god_!" he whispered, shuddering, and drew his hand away.

"Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder!" the late king wailed, his jowls quaking.

Hamlet's eyes widened in horror, "Murder!"

"Murder most foul," confirmed the late king grimly, "as in the best it is. But this most foul, strange, and unnatural."

"Haste me to know it," begged Hamlet, leaning forward with such intense attention it seemed he would throw himself at the ghost. "Quickly tell me, that I may rush to my revenge!"

"I find thee apt," the ghost said with asatisfied light in the pale vacant eyes. "Now, Hamlet, hear: Tis given out that, sleeping in mine orchard, a serpent bit me and thus I died. But know thou this: that serpent that bit me is the same that wears my crown!"

"O prophetic soul! My uncle?" Hamlet moaned, his eyes flashing. He had been right: his uncle was as guilty as he'd suspected.

"Ay!" growled the ghost, his eyes flashing as angrily as Hamlet's. "That incestuous, that _adulterate_ beast!" The ghost's teeth flashed, and Hamlet was amazed at its sudden solidity in its venem. "With his wicked traitorous gifts won he to his shameful lusts the will of my seeming-virtuous queen. O Hamlet," moaned the ghost, extending its hand again. "Despite those vows we made to each other in marriage, she feel to the wretch whose natural gifts pale in comparison to mine!"

"But soft!" the ghost cried, stirring. "Methinks I scent the morning air. Thus let me be breif: Sleeping within mine orchard, as was my afternoon custom, upon me did thy uncle steal and pour in mine ear the leperous distilment whose effect makes the blood in man posset and curd. Thus as I was sleeping, by my brother's hand, life, crown, queen -- all stolen from me! And with all my unconfessed sins on my head: O horrible! _Horrible!_ Most horrible!" the ghost wailed, dragging a mournful hand over its face.

"Yet taint not thy mind, nor let thy heart feel hate toward thy mother," the ghost said, seeing with sharp eyes Hamlet's inner wrath. "Leave her to heaven." He nodded, as if willing Hamlet to nod with him, and Hamlet despaired to remember how he had done so in life.

"Fare thee well," the ghost said sadly, his lips twitching with a small smile as he watched, with gentle fondness, his son's miserable coutenance. He was beginning to fade and called in a deep trembling voice, "Adieu, adieu! And Hamlet -- !" he extended his hand again, and Hamlet, blinking back tears, stepped forward and let his warm and living hand sink into its icyness.

"Remember me!" wailed his father and was gone.

Breathless, Hamlet rushed to the spot where his father's spirit had disappeared and turned in circles there as if he would follow.

"Oh, Father, leave me not! And shall I cope with your hell and mine alone? O fie! Hold, hold, my heart," he cursed, placing a hand over his thundering chest. "And you, my legs, bear me up . . ." and he leaned against the battlements in almost the same attitude as the spirit, as if he would fall in a dead faint.

"Remember thee!" Hamlet sobbed, his head hung in his grief. "Always, dear Father, always! Thy commandment alone I shall live: revenge! O pernicious woman!" he cursed suddenly, thinking of his smiling mother as she danced with his uncle at their wedding. "O villian, _villian_, smiling, _damned _villian! So, uncle, there you are. 'Adieu, adieu!' he moaned! 'Remember me!' And I shall!" He struck his chest with the vow and straightened up as he heard the sound of footfall on the large stone steps.

"My lord! My lord!" cried the voice of Horatio, and then the voice of Marcellus called, "Lord Hamlet!"

"Hillo, ho, ho, my lord!" Hamlet heard Horatio call and called in turn, "Hillo, ho, ho, boy! Come, bird, come."

Horatio and Marcellus stumbled up the steps, following Hamlet's voice, and were stricken to see him so pale and shaken. He seemed in worse condition than when they had encountered the apparition themselves, and Horatio rushed to Hamlet, frowning, and took his arm.

"How was it, my noble lord?" Marcellus asked breathlessly.

"What news?" Horatio demanded.

"O wonderful," said Hamlet sarcastically, pushing past his men and starting toward the stairs, but a strange smile lingered around his lips, almost crazed, and the men exchanged meaningful looks as their lord's back was turned.

"Good, my lord," said Horatio carefully, "tell it."

"No, no," Hamlet muttered, covering his eyes with his hand. "You will reveal it."

"Not I, my lord, by heaven!" Horatio cried, genuinely shocked.

"Nor I," added Marcellus.

Hamlet turned to them and asked gravely, "You'll be secret?"

Horatio and Marcellus nodded and said at once, "Ay, by heaven, my lord."

"A villian dwells in Denmark, an errant knave."

"There needs no ghost come from the grave, my lord," said Horatio darkly, " to tell us that."

"And you're right," returned Hamlet, "and so I hold it my business that we shake hands and part. Every man here has business to attend to, and, look you, I'll go pray."

Horatio frowned and shook his head, "You speak in riddles, my lord. These are but wild and whirling words."

"I am sorry they offend you," Hamlet answered.

"There's no offence, my lord."

"Yes, by Saint Patrick, there is, Horatio. Concerning this vision here, the ghost is honest. And now, good friends, give me one poor request."

"What my lord wills, we will do," answered Horatio readily.

"Then never make known what you have seen and heard this night," Hamlet told them, unsheathing his sword. "And swear it."

Seeming from every direction came the commanding wail: "_Swear it_!" and Horatio and Marcellus trembled as a sudden icy gust of wind swept their faces.

Hamlet stood motionless, his sword-point touching the ground as he waited. "Upon my sword, gentlemen," he whispered. "Art thou there, true-penny?"

Shivering against the supernatural cold, Horatio and Marcellus swore on Hamlet's sword never to reveal what they had seen and heard that night. Satisfied, the ghost stopped its supernatural gusts, and Hamlet resheathed his sword.

"With all my love I do commend you," Hamlet said to Horatio, clasping his friend's hand. "And you," he said to Marcellus. "Let us then go in together and remember -- your fingers to your lips! The crowned king is false and O cursed spite! that I was ever born to set it right!"


	5. Acting Mad or Madly Acting?

**Chapter 5: Acting Mad or Madly Acting?**

In the massive library of the castle in Elsinore, Polonius muttered quick instructions to his servant, Reynaldo. His daughter, Ophelia, was standing on the edge of the room, waiting for an audience with him, and he did not want her to hear what he was telling his manservant.

"Just be certain Laertes gets the money," Polonius was hissing to his nodding servant. "And . . ." he pressed a few coins in the servant's hand, 'Take heed of any actions on the boy's part that may dishonor both him and myself, and report all to me. Understand?"

"Yes, my lord," Reynaldo answered and was dismissed.

"How now, Ophelia!" Polonius said, frowning with concern, "Why look you so? What is the matter?"

Glancing left and right as if she thought she was would be overheard, Ophelia hesitated and then rushed desperately to her father, her black hair flying behind her and her long fingers twisting together anxiously.

"O my lord, my lord," she moaned, tears coursing freely down her cheeks. "I -- " she gulped, "I have been so frightened!"

"What is it, child?" Polonius said gently, taking her face in both his hands. "What, in the name of god!"

Ophelia hesitated again, as if she was loath to betray her attacker, then her face contorted and she burst, "My lord, I was sewing in my chambers when Lord Hamlet, with his doublet sloppy and unbraced, his stockings afoul, no hat upon his head, staggered in as pale as his rumpled shirt, his knees knocking together and -- and -- " she broke off as if she could not continue and averted her eyes.

But Polonius would not let go her face. "What? What, child? I can not help you if you do not tell me!"

"Such horrors he spoke of!" she shrilled, her slanted eyes popping. "He did not know himself! He seemed -- he seemed mad!"

"Mad for thy love?"

"My lord, I do not know," choked Ophelia. "But, truly, he was frightening."

"What said he?"

"He -- he took me by the wrist," Ophelia stammered, showing her father the white finger marks that were still there, "and held me very hard. Then he stretches away from me to the length of his arm and, standing thus, shades his brow and peers at me as if admiring me from a great distance! Long did he stand so, staring at me with a stranger's glinting eyes, and -- and I could not get away!"

She sobbed afresh, and Polonius took her into his arms.

"Hush, child, hush."

"Then -- then thrice did he wave his head up and down," went on Ophelia, sobbing, "as if he had confirmed something with his mad staring -- unshaved was he, his eyes bloodshot -- and he heaved such a weary sigh I thought he might have burst into tears. His face contorted as if he would, and his grip grew painfully tight. Only when I cried did he let go and shuffled awkwardly away, reaching out with his hands as if he'd gone blind!"

And she began to sob again, wailing, "O Hamlet! My poor Hamlet!"

"Hush now, peace, Ophelia," cooed her father, straightening up and holding her away. "Come, go with me. I will seek the king and we will straighten this matter. This seems the very ecstacy of love and leads the will to desperate undertakings. Have you given him any words of late?" he demanded of his daughter suspiciously.

"No," Ophelia answered stiffly. "But I did repel his letters and denied him access to me, as you commanded."

It still made Ophelia grind her teeth, that her father was keeping her from the only man she really cared about. She would be given to some old and ugly man twice her age and live a life more meaningless than the one she now led in her father's charge or, if she refused, would live out the rest of her miserable days shut up in a nunnery. There would be no happy life for her without her Hamlet.

"Then that hath driven him mad," confirmed Polonius, almost to himself. "Come, go we to the king. This must be known."

Polonius hobbled at once from the vast library, but Ophelia lingered, wiping the tears from her pale cheeks. She knew, in her heart of hearts, that this was the end. She and Hamlet would never be.


	6. The Secret Hamlet

**Chapter 6: The Secret Hamlet**

In the drafty castle of Elsinore, King Claudius squeezed his wife's hand as he whispered wetly in her ear. Gertrude, meanwhile, giggled and squirmed like any blushing virgin. Then Claudius pullled the queen close with sudden hunger and bent her into a passionate kiss. The royal pair's lusty giggling and fondling ceased, however, when footsteps sounded in the hall, and Claudius and Gertrude looked up to see two young men entering behind a servant.

"Welcome! Welcome, dear Rosencrantz -- dear Guildenstern!" boomed Claudius.

The two young men smiled at their king and bowed.

"Good gentlemen," added Gertrude, briskly smoothing her ruffled hair, "my king hath much talked of you. And I am sure there are not two men living he admires more!"

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern laughed merrily, and the queen lowered her eyes and blushed shyly, again acting the young virgin in the presence of men.

"It pleasures us both immensely to serve our lord," said Rosencrantz, his hands behind his back.

"Aye," agreed Guildenstern. "We stand ready to be commanded."

"Thanks, Rosencrantz, and gentle Guildenstern," replied their king with much delight. "I knew you would be up for it."

"Yes, my Hamlet will be much pleased to have his childhood friends near to him . . . in his grief . . ." The queen whispered the last few words and would not meet her husband's eye. Claudius was watching her carefully, but his suspicions were disturbed when more feet disrupted the hall, and the queen raised her head and cried, "Oh!"

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, looking mildly curious, were dismissed by the king as Polonius approached, looking pale and wild and bent toward some misadventure.

"Polonius -- " began the king and was cut short as Polonius burst, "My lord, I have found the very cause of Hamlet's lunacy!" He stopped short before the king, bowed quickly, and straigthened up.

"Oh? Then do speak of that," Claudius answered, "I do long to hear."

"Give first admittance to the ambassadors," Polonius reminded his king, and was sent away in pursuit of the aforementioned guests.

A moment later, Voltimond and Cornelius arrived, declaring Norway would not yet attack Denmark. When the men were sent away again on state business, Claudius turned to Polonius, who seemed bursting to tell his tale.

"My liege and madam," began Polonius, bowing in acknowledgement to the queen, "I will be brief: your son is mad. _Mad,_ I call it!"

"Get to the point," Gertrude said breathlessly, her small hand fluttering to her breast.

"Madam," said Polonius, "I swear that he is mad. Tis true, tis true, tis pity. I have a daughter, have while she is mine, who, in her duty and obedience to her father, hath given me this . . ."

And Polonius fumbled to unfold a letter much-wrinkled from constant handling, cleared his throat, and read the following aloud:

_To the celestial, and my soul's idol, the most beautified Ophelia -- In her excellent white bosom etc, etc . . ._

_Doubt thou the stars are fire;  
Doubt that the sun doth move;  
Doubt truth to be a liar;  
But never doubt I love._

_O dear Ophelia! I am ill at these verses: I have not art to tell thee just how much I care; but that I love thee best, O most best! Believe it. Adieu.Thine evermore, most dear lady, while this machine is to him, _

_Hamlet._

Polonius looked up, a scowl on his wrinkled face, "This in obedience my daughter hath shown me."

"But how hath she recieved his love?" Claudius asked.

"What do you think of me?" Polonius said, astonished. "She hath not recieved it at all! Not while I live and breathe! When I had discovered this madness, to my young mistress did I chide _'Young Hamlet is a prince, out of your reach, this can not be,'_ and thus ordered her to lock herself from his company. Therefore he fell into this madness wherein he now raves and we all mourn for."

"Do you think tis?" wondered Claudius, deep in thought.

"It may be," whispered Gertrude fearfully. "It may be, very like. Oh, my Hamlet!"

"Have I ever been wrong?" said Polonius, tapping the rolled-up letter on his palm.

"How may we be certain of this?" Claudius demanded suddenly. Hamlet had never been, by any means, a stupid lad, and Claudius was wary of the prince's sudden madness.

"You know sometimes he walks for hours here in the lobby," suggested Polonius, raising a finger.

"So he does," the queen agreed, nodding.

"At such a time, I'll send Ophelia to meet him -- _accidentally_, of course -- and you and I shall be in hiding, waiting and listening to what we shall hear."

"We will try it," said Claudius, nodding.

"But look," moaned the queen, and her pale and golden brows drew together sadly. "Here comes the poor wretch reading."

And indeed, Hamlet came strolling through the lobby at his leisure, his curly brown head bent seriously over an open book.

"Aye," hissed Polonius, "I do bessech you -- both away!"

The king and queen took warning and fled, and Polonius approached Hamlet and said with forced casualty, "How does my good lord Hamlet?"

Hamlet replied without looking up, "I am well, for the Lord has mercy."

"Do -- do you know me, my lord?" Polonius asked with raised eyebrows, for he'd only just noticed with a jolt that Hamlet's book was upside-down.

At last, Hamlet drew his gaze from the upside-down book and frowned at Polonius, slowly tilting his head to one side. After a prolonged and uneasy silence, Hamlet laughed and said, "I know you excellent and well -- you are a fishmonger!"

"Not I, my lord."

"Then I would you were an honest man," Hamlet said with a sudden dark frown.

"Honest, my lord?"

"Aye, sir, honest. To be honest is to be one man picked out of a thousand."

"That is very true, my lord," Polonius said, resigned to humor Hamlet in the hopes of proving him mad.

"For if the sun breeds maggots in a dead dog, being good carrion -- Have you a daughter?" Hamlet asked suddenly, a creepy smile stretching his crazed and unshaven face.

Polonius stiffened, willing himself not to be afraid and failing. "I have, my lord," he answered uncertainly.

"Then let her not walk in the sun," continued Hamlet, "for conception is a blessing and your daugher may conceive."

Shocked, Polonius stood rigid, his heart pumping with anger. Ophelia had just been compared to -- if not outright accused of being -- a dead fish. A fishmonger was also, in some cases, a pimp and, therefore, Ophelia had just been accused a whore. He breathed deeply under the young man's ever-watching, glinting eyes and had to remind himself that the prince was ill.

"What say you to that?" Polonius said to himself out the corner of his mouth. "First he calls me a fishmonger and then my daughter a fish. He is far gone, far gone." Then he added loudly to Hamlet, "What do you read, my lord?"

Hamlet waved an airy hand, "Words, word, words."

"But what is the subject, my lord?"

"I read of slanders, sir," said Hamlet heartily, "for this rogue herein says that old men have grey beards, that their faces are wrinkled, and their eyes thick with plumtree gum -- yet I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down, for you yourself, sir, shall grow as old as I am -- granted, of course, that you could grow backward."

"Will you walk out of the air, my lord?" said Polonius, again offended.

"Into my grave?"asked Hamlet sharply.

"Indeed, that is out of the air," Polonius muttered again to himself. "My honorable lord, I will most humbly take my leave of you."

"You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I will more willingly part with -- except my life, except my life, exept my life."

"Fare -- Fare you well, my lord," said Polonius nervously, and hurried away.

"These tedious old _fools_!" Hamlet sneered after him and looked up sharply when a familiar voice cried, "God save you, sir!"

He turned to see Rosencrantz followed closely by Guildenstern, who called inturn, "Mine honored lord!"

"My most dear lord!" gushed Rosencrantz.

Both men gave exaggerated bows, and Hamlet sneered momentarily at the top of their heads before they straightened up again. What empty flattery both men seemed to offer!

"My excellent and good friends," the prince said, effecting a smile. "How dost thou Guildenstern? Rosencrantz? How are you both?"

"So-so," replied Rosencrantz merrily.

"Happy that we are not over-happy," added Guildenstern.

"What news?" prompted Hamlet, resting his boot on a small table and his elbow on his knee.

"None, my lord," said Rosencrantz, startled. "But the world's grown honest."

"Then is doomsday near," replied Hamlet darkly. "Your news is not true. Let me then be more particular: what came you to this prison for?"

"Prison, my lord?" gasped Rosencrantz, laughing.

"Denmark's a prison," Hamlet said gravely.

"Then is the world one," Rosencrantz replied.

"Aye, and a goodly one, in which there are many confines, wards, and dungeons -- Denmark being the worst," said the prince.

"We think not so, my lord," said Rosencrantz, rocking on his heels with forced mirth.

"Why then, tis none to you," said Hamlet, "for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so: to me it is a prison."

"Why then, your ambition makes it one," said Rosencrantz. "Tis too narrow for your mind!"

"O god!" moaned Hamlet. "I could be bundled in a nutshell and counted a king of infinite space were it not for my nightmares. A dream in itself is but a shadow." After a moment, Hamlet sighed and stood on both feet again. "Shall we to court, gentlemen?"

"We'll wait upon you," answered his friends.

"Do not bother," the prince replied, grimacing. "For, to be honest, I am waited upon dreadfully -- I can not escape the servants!" he cried, and indeed several manservants were lingering on the edge of the lobby after Hamlet.

The three of them started from the lobby, Hamlet a little ahead of and inbetween the other two.

"So what dragged you to Elsinore?" Hamlet asked.

"To visit you, my lord, no other reason," lied Rosencrantz, shrugging.

Hamlet gave a bitter smile the other two did not mark. "Were you not sent for?" he asked lightly. "Is it your own inclining? Come, come, deal justly with me!"

"What -- what should we say, my lord?" stammered Guildenstern nervously.

He and Rosencrantz exchanged worried looks across the prince.

"You were sent for," confirmed Hamlet darkly, "and there is a kind of confession in your looks which your poor acting skills can not cover: I know the king and queen sent for you."

"Do . . ." Rosencrantz cleared his throat and asked guiltily, "Do you know to what end, my lord?"

"That you must teach me," replied Hamlet. "But, in the name of friendship, be direct with me -- were you sent for or no!"

"What say you?" hissed Rosencrantz, dropping back to confir with Guildenstern.

"Nay, if you love me, hold not off. Let us not continue in this lie -- "

Then both men turned to Hamlet, who was watching with a frightening impatience, and said, "Ay, my lord, we were sent for."

"Of course," said Hamlet quietly, his green eyes narrowed and his entire body completely still. "And I will tell you why to prevent your discovery and thus let your secrecy to the king and queen wilt no further:

"I have recently lost all mirth, forgone all custom of exercises, and with utter hatred do I look upon the world. The king and queen would send you to hear my lips utter the words _'what a piece of work is man! how noble reason! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals!'_ And yet man delights me not, nor women neither -- though, by your smiling, you seem to think so."

"My lord," protested Rosencrantz, though the dirty smile lingered still around his lips, "there was no such stuff in my thoughts."

"Why did you laugh then when I said, 'man delights not me?'"

"If you delight not in man, then you will take no pleasure in the players who have come to town, my lord," explained Rosencrantz. "Hither they are coming, to offer you service."

"What players are they?" Hamlet asked with great interest.

"Even you will take delight in them -- they are the tragedians of the city."

And even as Rosencrantz was speaking, Polonius bustled up to them to announce the players.

"The players -- the players have come hither, my lord!" Polonius annouced breathlessly, but Hamlet merely strode right past him. Polonius, started, turned and left grumpily again.

"My lord Hamlet!" two players called happily, lifting their hands in welcome to their old friend.

Hamlet grinned and went to them, laughing hoarsely.

"Friends, we'll hear a play tomorrow, will we not?" Hamlet inquired of the two players as he drew them aside. "Can you play The Murder of Gonzago?"

"Ay, my lord," answered the first player, grinning. "Anything for our greatest patron!"

Hamlet slapped the man good-naturedly on the back. "We'll have it tomorrow night then," he said. "And you could, if need, study a speech that I will add, could you not?"

"Ay, my lord," answered the first player yet again.

"Very well," said Hamlet, his green eyes calculating. He turned to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, who watched him nervously. "My good friends, I'll leave you tonight. You are welcome in Elsinore."

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern seemed loath to leave Hamlet alone, and the prince knew they had been instructed by their king not to do so. But when they left with reluctant smiles, Hamlet faced the gloomy interior of the court halls alone.

"This player will rouse him in his guilt," Hamlet muttered, "and make the accusation I dare not let fly from mine own lips. Am I a coward? I am pigeon-livered and lack gall or else I would have painted the skies by now with this villian's insides! Bloody, bawdy villian!"

Hamlet's teeth flashed in his rage, and he clenched his fists, "Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villian! O vengeance! What an ass am I that I stand here raving like a child while that remorseless villian goes free! I will have these players play something like my father's murder before mine uncle, and then will I observe his looks. The play is the thing wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king!"


	7. The Lovers Part

**Chapter 7: The Lovers Part**

Claudius was frustrated. "And could you get from him no reason why he puts on this confusion and disturbs his days of quiet with turbulent lunacy?" he demaned fiercely of Hamlet's friends.

"He does confess he feels himself distracted," said Rosencrantz lamely, shrinking beneath Claudius's flashing eyes. "But from what cause he will by no means speak."

"Nor do we find him willing to be questioned," added Guildenstern, shrugging. "With crafty madness does he keep aloof when we try to discover his true state."

The king growled impatiently and turned his back, thinking hard.

"And does he recieve you well?" asked Gertrude, worried.

"Most like a gentleman," replied Rosencrantz.

"But with much forcing," said Guildenstern, "as if it took an effort to be civil to us."

"Did you suggest any of his favorite pastimes? He used to love the library but will not venture there now," further ventured the queen by way of a suggestion.

"Madam," answered Rosencrantz, "we told him of the players that came to town. And, as I think, they already have order this night to play before him."

"Tis most true," added Polonius.

"With all my heart," said the king calmly and turned around again, "it does much content me to hear this. Good gentlemen, watch him with a keener eye and encourage him on these delights."

"We shall, my lord," answered Hamlet's friends and left at the king's word of dismissal.

"Sweet Gertrude, you must leave us too," said the king to Gertrude, squeezing her small hand, "that Hamlet, as though by accident, may meet with Ophelia. Her father and myself will listen, unseen, that we may frankly judge the boy's madness."

"I shall obey you," Gertrude said, pecking her husband on the cheek. "And for your part, Ophelia, I do wish that your good beauty be the happy cause of Hamlet's wildness, and so shall I hope that your good virtues shall bring him back to us again!" And she kissed Ophelia on both cheeks before she departed.

"Ophelia, walk you here," ordered Polonius, pointing. "Gracious, so please you, we shall hide ourselves -- Ophelia, feign to read this book -- I hear him coming! Let's withdraw, my lord -- "

Ophelia watched her father and the king hide themselves, then turned and began to pace the lobby, the small book open in her slender fingers. Her heart was beating furiously. She had not seen Hamlet since that frightful morning he had entered her chambers and terrorized her so. She worried that he would be even still as mad, and her heart thudded to think what horrifying antics her once-lover would perform in his lunacy.

O Hamlet! The very thought of him so wretched and unshaven on that fateful morning made a few tears brim her eyes, and she sighed sadly and went on pretending to read the little Psalm.

Ophelia froze as she heard Hamlet's familiar voice muttering feverishly:

"To be or not to be? That is the question. Whether tis nobler by far in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of cruel fortune or to take arms against a sea of troubles and, thus, by opposing end them? To die: to sleep; no more; and, by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to . . ."

Ophelia gave a tiny sob to hear his words. He spoke of heart-ache and misfortune and life being pain -- and it was her fault! She should have defyed her father, informed Hamlet of Polonius's wishes, and run away with her true love! Oh, she was a coward -- _a coward!_ -- for not standing up to Polonius!

Hamlet, hearing Ophelia's sob, said with genuine delight, "Soft you now! The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy prayers be all my sins remembered."

Ophelia, who stood frozen, her back to Hamlet, drew herself up and dried her tears. "Good my lord, how does your honour for this many a day?"

"I humbly thank you; well, well, well . . ." Hamlet answered, smiling, and approached.

His seeming sanity frankly shocked Ophelia, who had anticipated the wild and unshaven man of the morrow previous. But this Hamlet was glowing, smiling, happy, shaven and dressed as immaculately as ever -- this was _her_ Hamlet. This was the man she loved, wanted to marry, longed to run away with. The clear green eyes were glowing at her, twinkling with their joy, and it pained her more than Hamlet would ever guess to do what her father had bid her do next.

"My lord, I have remembrances of yours," Ophelia said, unable to bear it as she drew from the folds of her apron several necklaces, scarves, and rosary beads: all tokens of Hamlet's affection. Averting her eyes as if it pained her to do it, she held the clinking objects at arm's length toward Hamlet, whose face hardened. "Pray you, recieve them now."

To this, Hamlet laughed sarcastically and turned away, "No, not I. I never gave you aught."

"My honored lord, you know right well you did!" flared Ophelia, her eyes widening at Hamlet's back.

How _dare _he imply that she had courted many men for those! But she remembered again that she was slighting him, and he did not know her father was the cause of it. She wanted desperately to tell Hamlet she still loved him, that she refused him now because she was being forced to, but Polonius and the king were in hiding, listening and watching all she said and did.

"And with them," choked Ophelia, realizing how betrayed Hamlet must be feeling, "words so sweet of breath composed as made the things more rich."

Hamlet turned to her, disbelieving, and frowned. Her passion and longing were obvious, but why then was she slighting him? Was it all a game? Was she toying with him?

"Their perfume being lost," continued Ophelia in a rush, her eyes averted, "take these again. There, my lord . . ." and she stepped forward and shakily pressed the many beads and bangles into Hamlet's limp hand.

Ophelia scurried back and watched him nervously, like a rat scurrying to the safety of its hole. Hamlet's head was lowered as he gazed darkly at the rejected gifts in his open hand, and she could not see his face. But a low moan rose slowly from his chest, growing louder and louder as his chest heaved, then his fist snapped down tight on the necklaces and hurled them suddenly at Ophelia, who screamed and covered her head.

Hamlet laughed at her viciously, "Are you honest? A virgin, I mean."

"My lord!" gasped Ophelia, stung.

"Are you fair!" demanded Hamlet, the green eyes flashing. "For_ fair_ and _beautiful_ women are seldom _chaste_!" Had she met someone else, he wondered, and thus was throwing his love back in his face for her new lover?

Ophelia drew herself up again and lifted her chin, and she knew without having to look at him that Hamlet was smirking at her attempted dignity.

"Can my beauty have no better association than with my honesty, my lord?" she said with dignity, though she sounded as if she had a head cold.

Hamlet marked with a pang of regret her steadily rising tears but plunged on, his fists clenched as if he was straining against himself. "Ay, truly, for the power of beauty soon turns honesty to the form of a whore. I did love you once," he said miserably, turning and covering his eyes as if he'd spoken more to himself than to Ophelia.

"Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so."

Hamlet heard the miserable note in Ophelia's voice and knew she was trying very hard not to cry. He couldn't look at her, not if she was crying, he couldn't bear it. But the angry, aching, wounded part of him, the part of him that felt alone and betrayed, was crying out for vengenace and he wanted nothing more than to hurt the the woman who was so coldly turning him away.

"You should not have believed me," Hamlet snapped over his shoulder. "I loved you not!"

"I was the more decieved." Her voice was a sob.

Hamlet turned. Her back was to him and her face in her hands.

"Get thee to a nunnery!" Hamlet spat at her. "Why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners?" he demanded in his utter hatredof people and the world in general. "I myself am generally virtuous, and yet I could accuse me of such things that it were better my mother had never born me! I am proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offences at my beck and call than I have thoughts to put them in. What should such fellows as I do crawling between heaven and earth? We are arrant knaves all! Go thy ways to a nunnery!"

Hamlet paused, watching her back miserably, and asked with slight suspicion, "Where is your father?"

"At -- at home," Ophelia lied sullenly, her voice muffled through her hands and through her sobbing.

Hamlet's heart thrilled again with anger, for he knew without a doubt that the king and his wretched councillor were in hiding, listening and watching all that was said and done. He wanted to grab Ophelia, spin her around, and shake her for the lie. Would she abandon him? _lie_ to him? when he had loved her so dearly?

"Then let the doors be shut upon him," Hamlet sneered at her back, unable to bear the sight of her shaking shoulders, "that he may play the fool in his own house! Farewell."

"O heavenly powers, restore him!" Ophelia prayed, crossing herself as she sobbed.

"I have heard of your paintings too, you _women_," Hamlet said darkly to her, having stopped in the middle of leaving her. "God hath given you one face and yet you make yourselves another. You dance and walk to intice lust and make your wantonness your ignorance. Go on, I'll no more it. It hath made me mad. I say we will have no more marriages. Those that are married already shall live, but the rest should keep as they are! To a nunnery go!"

Ophelia waited until she was certain Hamlet had stalked away before she turned again. Her pale face was streaked with tears in her misery. She hiccoughed with fierce sobs, her shoulders shaking, and heeded not the strands of black hair that clung to her damp cheeks. Instead, she stared wretchedly into the distance, unseeing, as she sobbed and gasped through her tears.

"O what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!" she cried, clutching both hands to her breast. "And I of ladies most deject and wretched! That handsome, unmatchable form and feature of blown youth ruined by madness! O woe is me! To see what I have seen -- to see what I see!"

"Love!" gasped Claudius, emerging with Polonius. "His emotions do not that way bend. Nor what he spoke was not like madness. There is something in his soul that drives this meloncholy which will be the cause, I doubt it not, of some danger. With speed will I send him to England for the money owed Denmark. What think you, Polonius?"

"It would do him well," answered the old man, nodding. "But yet do I believe that his madness is sprung from neglected love. How now Ophelia! You need not tell us what was said. We heard all. My lord king, do as you please, but let his mother entreat him alone after the play, and I shall hide as here we did just now and listen to their conference. If she find not the cause, then to England send him or confine him where your wisdom best think."

"It shall be so," said Claudius. "Madness in great ones must not unwatched go."

And as the king and Polonius moved away, Ophelia knelt, sobbing, and quickly gathered the thrown gifts in her apron once more. Most of the rosary beads were cracked, the necklaces broken, and the rings lost under furniture, but Ophelia gathered what she could before her father noticed that she lingered and beckoned to her.

"I'm coming, my lord!" she called to Polonius, but knew, as she knelt crying silently over a scuffed ring Hamlet had only recently given her, that she would be many minutes alone until the tears stopped flowing.


	8. The Tempered Pipe

**Chapter 8:The Tempered Pipe**

Within the walls of Elsinore Castle, the halls were thick with the merry sounds of feasting. People laughed, drank, tore at mutton with their teeth, and crowded close to the empty stage as they eagerly awaited the much anticipated play for the night. The royal court, meanwhile, were seated in high seats as they waited with the servants and peasants for the fun to begin. King Claudius whispered in a giggling Gertrude's ear, and Ophelia slouched miserably in her seat as she listened to her father muttering with Hamlet's old friends.

"Where the devil could he_ be_?" Polonius cursed under his breath, clenching his fists as his eyes searched the surrounding hall for Hamlet.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern shrugged guiltily.

"I know we were charged to keep at his side," began Guildenstern, not meeting Polonius's angry eyes, "but he gave us the slip, my lord . . ."

"Fools!" hissed Polonius at them both. "You don't leave a mad person to his own devices! What think you the king brought you here for? Let's away! We must find him . . ."

But Hamlet, meanwhile, was backstage with his player friends. The players crowded around him eagerly as he whispered last instructions for the play.

"I must hurry," Hamlet was muttering to his surrounding friends, "for my fool servants will have marked my absence – but have you my speech memorized, then?"

"Down to the last flourish," joked one of the players, grinning, and Hamlet laughed.

"Good, good," said the prince, "and be not too tame neither. Go, quick, and make you ready, for my fool friends approach!" Hamlet hissed, glancing over his shoulder. He straightened as the players dispersed and turned to Polonius, who was approaching with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern in tow. "How now, my lord! Will the king hear this piece of work?"

Polonius nodded, "And the queen too, and that presently."

"Bid the players make haste," Hamlet told Polonius, who hesitated, but hobbled away to obey with a sour disposition. "And won't you help to hasten them?" Hamlet said to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, who started at being sent away yet again and knew obeying Hamlet would only mean more trouble for them. But it would look too suspicious if they insisted on clinging to him constantly, so the two young men said, "We will, my lord," and hurried after Polonius.

"What, ho! Horatio!" called Hamlet, delighted.

Horatio was indeed wandering through the crowded hall. He spotted his friend over the sea of heads, grinned, and fought his way over.

"Here, sweet lord, at your service," he said, bowing to his prince and brother.

"Horatio, thou are as just a man as ever I met," said Hamlet merrily, clapping his friend on the back, and his bitter eyes surveyed the crowded hall and landed with disgust on his uncle, who was still tickling the queen's ear with his wet whispers.

"Oh – my – my dear lord – " began Horatio, flustered.

"Nay, do not think I flatter. Why should the poor be flattered? Give me that man that is not passion's slave, and I will wear him in my heart's core, aye, in my heart of hearts, as I do thee. There is a play tonight before the king and one scene comes near the circumstance which I have told thee of my father's death. I pray thee, observe mine uncle. If his guilt does not occur, then it is a damned ghost we have scene and my imagination foul. My eyes will rivet his face and later we will both our judgements join."

"Well, my lord, if he so steal and conceal his guilt while the play is playing, then I will pay the theft," said Horatio grimly.

"The players are ready, and I must seem crazy," whispered Hamlet as some of the torches in the hall were doused. "Go, get you a place . . ."

Horatio nodded and moved off through the murmuring crowd. Hamlet watched him go, then moved toward the king and queen, who were holding hands and giggling like two young lovers. Polonius sat at the king's side, Ophelia at the queen's, and lastly Rosencrantz and Guildenstern at the end of the row. A seat was saved for Hamlet between Ophelia and the queen. Hamlet felt his heart burn as he looked on Ophelia, as he looked on them all. How he hated them now, _hated_ them! They had been his family and now? Now they were all against him. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, his childhood friends, were nothing but traitors now. Ophelia (his sweet nymph, so kind and so lovely!) had thrown his love back in his face. Polonius was nothing but a nosy knave, his mother a loyal-less harlot, and his uncle the king?

_We shall soon see_, thought Hamlet grimly as the king lifted a hand and called happily, "How fares our cousin Hamlet?"

"Excellent, in faith of the chameleon's dish, for he feeds on only air. I eat air, promise-crammed," was the prince's puzzling reply.

The king and Polonius exchanged meaningful glances.

"I – I have nothing with this answer . . ." answered the king uncertainly.

"My lord, you played once in the university, did you not?" Hamlet asked Polonius abruptly.

"I did enact Julius Caesar and was killed by Brutus . . ." Polonius lifted his eyebrows at the king as if to say "You see what I mean?"

"It was a_ brute_ part of him to kill so capital a calf," said Hamlet without cracking a smile, and Polonius's mouth dropped open behind his back in smothered rage. "Be the players ready?"

"They await your convenience, my lord," answered Rosencrantz.

"Come hither, my good Hamlet, sit by me," begged the queen, for Hamlet had remained standing all this time, as if he loathed to be seated among those people he now had to hate.

"No, my good mother," Hamlet answered, and his green eyes wandered with a crazed glint to Ophelia, who went rigid with fear in her chair. " . . . here's metal more attractive," and Hamlet knelt at Ophelia's feet and roughly snatched her hand.

Ophelia (totally convinced of Hamlet's madness) remained frozen in her chair and watched Hamlet in wide-eyed pity and terror. She could only imagine what antics he would perform here before all eyes and could not bear to see the scorn glittering in the green eyes which had once looked upon her with such tender love.

"Ho! Do you mark that?" whispered Polonius to the king, who was watching Hamlet with narrowed eyes.

Hamlet roughly kissed Ophelia's hand, whose fingers were trembling uncontrollably in their fierce desire to be free of him. "Lady," said the prince, laying his head in Ophelia's lap, "shall I lie in your lap?"

Ophelia's eyes, now glistening with tears, wandered toward the murmuring crowds and the stage, as if she longed for the play to begin and free her of her ex-lover's madness. She swallowed and managed, "No, my lord."

"I mean, my_ head_ in your lap?"

"Ay – ay, my lord," Ophelia said uncertainly, and Hamlet snuggled his face against her thighs. She shuddered, feeling her body stir hungrily for his touch. He had not laid a hand on her in weeks, and she realized suddenly that he had meant to rouse her.

Hamlet laughed scornfully at the clear ache for him in her eyes, rose, and seated himself in the seat beside her. "Did you think I meant country matters?" he taunted. "Did you think I wanted to – "

"I think nothing, my lord," Ophelia said in a rush, glad suddenly that her eyes had not overspilled with tears. But her cheeks burned angrily. So he would be vulgar, make sex jokes, humiliate before all these watching eyes while the players waited patiently for him to finish? Well, she would bear it with dignity, then!

"That's a fair thought to lie between maid's legs," said Hamlet, smiling scornfully at her attempted dignity.

"What is, my lord?" said Ophelia through her teeth, her dark eyes clouding with her wrath.

Hamlet grinned at her rage, delighted. "Nothing," he answered.

"You are merry, my lord," Ophelia said dismissively. Had he been drinking? It was not like her Hamlet to drink, but then again, Hamlet had not been himself for days now. He'd grown unpredictable, mad, crazed . . . There was no telling what he would do or say to her here before all these people. Was he really mad? Or was this humiliation her punishment for turning him away? Oh, if only he knew the truth!

"Who, I?" the prince said in mock surprise.

"Ay, my lord."

"O god, your only jig-maker. What should a man do but be merry? For look you how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father died within two hours!" Hamlet said loudly, and Gertrude froze in her chair, stricken.

Claudius, meanwhile, was grinding his teeth.

"Nay, tis two months, my lord," said Ophelia, trying with all her might to focus on the stage and not look at Hamlet. She felt the intensity of his gaze as strongly as if he could touch her just with his look. Was he indeed mad or had the last comment been sarcasm? With him it was always hard to tell, and she turned her face in despair and crossed herself, thinking as she gulped down a rising sob, _My poor, poor Hamlet!_

Hamlet saw Ophelia's distress and dropped his gaze with a pang of guilt. Though her treachery deserved all the cold slander and humiliation he could muster, he could not look into her deep black eyes without loving her. How sorrowful she was now: her bottom lip trembling, her eyes shimmering with unspilled tears. She was suffering for him, worrying for him, crossing herself and praying silently. And how much was he terrorizing her! She sat rigid in her chair and would not even look at him!

_Though you've crushed me, I need you to look at me or I'll die! _Hamlet thought, watching her.

"Has it been so long then?" Hamlet said gently, gesturing for the players to start. "O heavens! To die two months ago and not forgotten yet! Then there's hope a great man's memory may outlive his life half a year."

Hearing his softened tone, Ophelia looked at Hamlet quickly and was shocked to see the scorn had melted from his eyes. He was looking at her with a sort of naked vulnerably as if the green eyes said, "Please . . . I'm sorry I hurt you, but you see, I am hurting." How tender his expression now, and how miserable, and how yearning. Ophelia felt her heart melt as he quietly gathered her fingers into his own, his eyes fixed on the stage as the play began, and was puzzled to tears. Why the sudden change of mood? Why the tender look, why the gentle hands, why the apology in the eyes? Was he really sorry he had taunted and humiliated her? Was he normal again? For those green eyes had become_ her_ Hamlet's once more – not the eyes of the mad and raving man they'd been the last few days.

"What means my lord?" Ophelia asked breathlessly.

"Marry," answered Hamlet without looking at her and nodded at the stage if he thought her question pertained to the play, "this is miching mallecho – it means mischief."

Ophelia smiled uncertainly, feeling as if she could sing. Was it true? Was her Hamlet (the Hamlet who loved theater, loved music, loved her) back? "Belike – belike this show reveals the plot."

Hamlet chuckled, "We shall know by this fellow: the players cannot keep counsel – they'll tell all."

"Will he tell us what this show meant?" asked Ophelia, relaxing and rejoicing in the warmth of Hamlet's fingers. It was like they were in her chambers beside the fire again, reading their favorite plays to each other and discussing them. Hamlet absolutely loved the theater, and she had indulged in it just for him.

"He'll not shame to tell you what it means."

"You are naught, you are naught," teased Ophelia, squeezing his fingers. "I'll mark the play."

"Is this the prologue or the posy of a ring?" complained Hamlet as a single player on the stage trilled of the play's prologue.

"Ay, it is too brief," agreed Ophelia.

"Like woman's love," Hamlet muttered bitterly, and stung, Ophelia snatched her hand away.

On the stage, a queen and her lover were plotting the downfall of their king. The queen was very reluctant and sobbed and sighed, but her lover growled at her with much impatience and told her she must help him.

"Madam, how like you this play?" Hamlet asked his mother.

"The lady dost protest too much, methinks," answered the queen.

"Have you heard the argument?" hissed Claudius, pulling at his collar as if the hall was suddenly too hot. "Is there no offence in it?"

"No, no," laughed Hamlet, "they do but jest, poison in jest."

"What do you call the play?" Claudius wanted to know. He would never allow this play to show again!

"Mouse-trap," answered Hamlet by way of a jest, watching his uncle closely. A crazed smiled lingered around his lips, unnerving the king. "The play is the image of the murder of Gonzago in Vienna. You shall see soon. Tis a_ knavish_ piece of work. But what of it, your majesty, we have innocent souls and it touches us not!" he added like a final jab to an already beaten man.

"You are a good chorus, my lord," said Ophelia in an attempt to flatter Hamlet so as to win back his good side, the side which he had briefly shown to her when he'd taken her hand. "You interpret the play rather well."

"I could better interpret you and your love if I could see the puppets fondling each other," Hamlet remarked scathingly.

Ophelia flushed again in her anger. "You are keen, my lord, very keen," she said coldly. Why the sudden sarcasm again? Why the angry eyes? Why the mean stare? Did the illness in him come and go? Did the madness waver? Would she never have her Hamlet back? How keen – how sarcastic and cruel he was now!

Hamlet laughed bitterly, leaned over, and whispered in her ear, "It would cost you a groaning to take off _my_ edge."

Ophelia felt his lips brush her ear in a soft kiss, shuddered angrily, and looked away again. "Still better and worse," she said tonelessly.

"So you _mistake_ your husbands," mocked Hamlet, beginning again his rant against women. He would have continued but noticed the climax of the play had finally come: the player lover was poisoning his king. "What, ho! He poisons him in the garden estate!" Hamlet cried, watching Claudius was glittering eyes.

"The king rises!" gasped Ophelia.

"What!" mocked Hamlet. "Frightened with false fire?"

There was a collective gasp and the players froze as the king rose from his seat, bellowed frenzied orders at the players and the hall at large, and stormed from the hall with the flustered queen and Polonius in tow. The rest of the hall exited in mass confusion, and Ophelia disappeared after her father with a worried look at Hamlet.

Hamlet lounged in the empty hall, his feet propped on his mother's empty seat. Horatio approached him across the strewn garbage and rumpled rugs, and he sat up with a sarcastically triumphant flourish of his hand.

"Why, let the stricken deer go weep, the hart ungalled play, for some must watch while some must sleep: so the world runs away." Hamlet heaved a sigh, "O good Horatio! I'll take the ghost's word for a thousand pound. Didst thou perceive?"

"Upon the talking of poison I very well did note him," answered his friend.

"Yes, there was a certain look of – " but Hamlet broke off and fell silent with a weary eye as Rosencrantz and Guildenstern approached. "Ah ha!" cried Hamlet, affecting madness at once. "Come, some music!"

"My good lord, vouchsafe me a word with you," said Guildenstern, bowing.

Hamlet shrugged, "Sir, a whole history."

"The king, sir – " began Guildenstern.

"Ay, what of him?"

"Is in his retirement marvelous distempered – "

"With drink, sir?" suggested Hamlet, his eyes mocking and wild.

"No, my lord, rather with anger," said Guildenstern, exchanging looks of dread with Rosencrantz.

"Your wisdom were far more richer to tell this to some doctor," said Hamlet, hopping down from the armrest of his mother's vacant chair. "What good will telling me do? For me to put him to his purgation would plunge him more into his anger."

"The queen your mother hath sent us to you," said Guildenstern.

"Your behavior hath struck her into amazement," added Rosencrantz, "and she desires to speak with you ere you go to bed."

"O what wonderful son that can so astonish a mother!" said Hamlet with a secret smile at Horatio. "But I shall obey were she ten times my mother. Have you anything else or is that all?" he added with a hint of annoyance.

"My lord," began Rosencrantz in earnest, "you did once love me. We were the best of friends."

"By my hands, we were," agreed the prince indifferently.

Rosencrantz shook his head, "But my good lord, what is the meaning of your distemper? You surely cause yourself to suffer if you deny your grievances to your friends."

Some players entered as he spoke, and Hamlet borrowed one of their recorders. Turning to Guildenstern, he said, "Will you play upon this pipe?"

"I believe I can not . . ." Guildenstern answered uncertainly, exchanging another look with Rosencrantz.

"I beseech you," said the prince with a creepy smile. "It's as easy as . . . _lying_." He watched their eyes dart nervously and plunged on in sudden wrath, "Why, look you now! How unworthy a thing you make of me! You would play upon _me_ – !" and he threw therecorder in their faces, " – and you would pluck out the heart of my mystery – and there is _much_ music in this little organ – yet you can not make it speak! Christ's _blood_, do you think I am so easily played upon as a pipe?"

And he stood, his chest heaving, glaring at his two traitorous friends. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern stood motionless, their faces burning their guilt, their eyes cast down. They were in the king's pocket and no friend of the prince's, and Hamlet had droppedall pretense ofmanners at last. He was calling them out for what they were: traitors and liars and bad actors. And they could hardly stand before him such was the ferocity of his gaze.

But Polonius entered at that moment, repeating again Guildenstern's message.

"Do you see yond cloud that is almost in the shape of a camel?" said Hamlet, gazing at the ceiling.

Polonius humored him with an I-told-you-so glance at Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, "By the mass, like a camel indeed!"

"Methinks it like a weasel," said Hamlet abruptly.

"It is backed like a weasel," said Polonius.

"Or like a whale?"

"Very like a whale."

Hamlet's eyes glittered with a suppressed smile, "I will come to my mother by and by."

"I will say so," said Polonius, and hurried away as if very eager to have something done.

"By and by," repeated Hamlet, glowering at Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. "Leave me . . . _friends_." He sneered the last word at them, and they left with burning faces. Then he clapped Horatio's shoulder, who smiled at him in turn and exited the hall.

"Tis now the very witching time of night," Hamlet murmured. "When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out. Soft! Now to my mother. Let me be cruel, not crazed. And I shall speak daggers to her!"


	9. Guilt and Treason

**Chapter 9: Guilt and Treason**

King Claudius paced the length of his chambers, his face sweaty and pale, his eyes popping. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern stood nervously on the edge of the room, watching the king in his frantic pacing as he muttered feverishly at intervals to himself.

"I like him not," the king said, tearing his hand momentarily from his mouth, "nor stands it safe with us to let his madness rage. Therefore, prepare you – straight away to England – I will make the necessary arrangements – for danger doth hourly grow out of his lunacies . . ."

"We will make the preparations," said Rosencrantz.

"Yes, and make haste!"

"We will," said the two men and bowed and exited the king's chambers.

"Does anyone suspect? But my guilt smells to high heaven!" cried Claudius, tearing wretchedly at his clothing. "It hath the primal eldest curse upon it – a brother's murder! Pray, I can not, though I long to – how I long!" he cried and crossed himself miserably. "Try what repentance can: what can it not? Yet what can it when one can not repent? O wretched state!" he spat, tearing at his hair. "O bosom black as death! O limed soul that struggling to be free are more engaged! Help, angels!" and his twisted face turned in anguish to the ceiling. "Bow stubborn knees . . ." He sunk in agony to his knees and knelt, sweating profusely, over his clasped hands.

"Look you he prays," murmured Hamlet to himself, who in passing had paused outside the king's cracked door and watched the little scene with grim interest. "Now I might slay him easily, but he is praying no doubt for forgiveness. So would I be revenged, but he, forgiven, would go to heaven. He took my father grossly, his sins on his head, with all his crimes broad blown, and I shall do the same to him! And that his soul may be damned and black as hell, whereto it goes. My mother says: the prayer but prolongs sickly days."

And Hamlet moved on to his mother's chambers, his jaw rigid with anger that the king's prayers had forestalled his revenge.

Meanwhile, Polonius (who was standing watch in the hall) spotted Hamlet approaching and hurried into the queen's chambers. "He comes straight! Look you lay home to him! Tell him his pranks have been broad to bear with and that Grace hath stood between much anger and him. I'll hide away in here – I pray you be firm with him!"

"Mother!" called Hamlet's sing-song voice down the hall. "Mother! Mother!"

"I hear him coming!" hissed the queen, flustered. "Hurry! Withdrawl!"

Polonius dove behind a tapestry the very moment Hamlet entered. The prince was whistling cheerfully, his hands shoved in his pockets, and said happily, "Now, Mother, what's the matter?"

The glittering bitterness of his smile frightened Gertrude, who covered her fear well with a dignified lift of her chin.

"Hamlet," said the queen gravely, "thou hast thy father much offended."

"Mother," said Hamlet with mock gravity, "you have my father much offended." And he glowered at her quite sincerely, his eyes suddenly dark and ferocious.

"Come, come," Gertrude snapped, frowning at him, "you answer with an idle tongue."

"Go, go," mocked Hamlet, "you question with a wicked tongue."

And they fell into an uneasy silence, Hamlet's angry eyes never shifting from his mother's astonished face. It was not like Hamlet to be rude to her, to mock her, to seem to hate her as he wasbehaving tonight. Where was her Hamlet, so charming and gentle and kind? He must be mad after all, it was the only answer.

"Why, now, Hamlet!" cried the queen, shaking her head in despair. What could she do? She couldn't admonish a mad son! Did he even know what he was saying to her, how he was behaving? Did he even have any control?

"What's the matter _now_?" said Hamlet, rocking on his heels. He gave a little whistle and peered indifferently around the room.

"Have you forgotten me?" the queen demanded. For he had never treated her with such open contempt before but had always adored her. She fumbled anxiously with her long unbraided hair and stared at her son as helplessly as if she would have flown to the ends of the earth had he but asked.

Hamlet rocked on his heels again, "No, by the cross, not so. You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife, and – would it were not so! – you are my mother."

"Nay then," said the queen, her face darkening. "I'll set those to you who can _make _you speak." And she rose purposefully from her dignified seat on the edge of the bed.

Hamlet scowled at the empty threat. "Come, come, sit you down. You shall not budge. You will go not until I can reveal your true self to you!" He moved toward her with a menacing light in his eye, and Gertrude sank backward onto the edge of her bed as if her knees had given away, her blue eyes wide.

"What wilt thou do?" she gasped, shielding her face as Hamlet approached, his fists clenched at his sides. "Wilt thou murder me? Help, help!"

And Polonius screamed from behind the tapestry, "Help! Murder! Help!"

Hamlet spun around. "What's this? A rat?" he cried and passed his sword with a vicious stab through the tapestry.

There was a cry of anguish, and Polonius collapsed to the floor, clutching his gushing chest.

"O me!" shrieked the queen, covering her mouth and scrambling backward onto the bed, as if the bed would save her from her crazed son. "What – what hast thou done!" she shrilled. "O what a rash and bloody deed is this!"

Hamlet rushed at her and covered her mouth. "A bloody deed?" he sneered at her. "Yes, almost as bad as kill a king and marry his brother, eh, Mother?" He let her go and turned again to Polonius, who lay now dead and staring.

"As kill a king!" gasped the queen behind him, astonished.

"Ay, lady, that's what I said!" Hamlet grunted, rolling Polonius under the tapestry with his boot. "Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell!" he laughed. "Leave wringing of your hands!" he snarled suddenly at his mother, who was trying to dash for the door. "Peace, sit you down! Or I shall wring your heart!" and he lifted the back of his hand at Gertrude, who flopped onto the bed again, horrified.

"What have I done?" she sobbed. "What have I done that thou dar'st speak so rudely against me?" she begged, holding out her hands, her tousled blonde hair falling into her eyes.

"Such an act," said Hamlet darkly, his voice rising, "THAT MAKES MARRIAGE VOWS AS FALSE AS DICERS' OATHS!"

"Ay me!" Gertrude shrank beneath her towering son, covering her head. "What act that roars so loud and thunders!"

Hamlet pulled a chain from the collar of his tunic on which dangled the image of the late king. "Look you here!" he growled, dragging his mother's face close to the image by the hair. "Look upon this picture and see what grace was seated on this brow – Hyperion's curls, the face of Jove himself, an eye like Mars to threaten and command, a stature like to herald Mercury himself – a face with the stamp of approval placed upon it by every god – a handsome man! _This_ is your husband!" he said through his teeth, shaking a sobbing Gertrude by the hair.

"This, this!" he screamed, his eyes widening at his mother, as if urging her to understand something she had long forgotten. "_Here _is your husband! Have you not eyes? O _shame_!" he growled, shoving her back on the bed.

Gertrude's legs flew up before she could stop them. She caught herself on one elbow and bowed her head until her long blonde hair was a shielding veil and sobbed fiercely.

"Where is thy blush?" Hamletraged at her. "Where is thy shame? Where is thy remorse?"

"O Hamlet!" moaned the queen, dragging a weary hand up to wipe her wet face. "Speak no more – thou turn'st mine eyes to my very soul . . . and there I see such black and grained spots as will not leave their tinct."

"Nay, but to live in the rank sweat of an unseamed bed!" roared Hamlet breathlessly. "Stewed in corruption, honeyed and making love over the nasty sty – "

"O speak no more!" sobbed the queen. "These words are like daggers. No more, Hamlet!" she said fiercely.

"A murderer and a villain," went on Hamlet, "a slave that is not _twentieth_ part the tithe of your late lord. A vice of kings, a cur-purse of the empire and the rule, that from a shelf the precious diadem stole and put it in his pocket!"

"No more!" the queen roared, glaring at Hamlet.

But Hamlet, seeing his father's ghost drift through the wall, stopped in the middle of his tirade. The late king of Denmark stood before him, doleful and weary, and shook his miserable gray head at his son.

"What would your gracious figure?" whispered Hamlet, staring seemingly at the wall.

The queen looked wildly between Hamlet and the wall, her mouth open in her bewilderment. "Alas, he is mad!" she whispered to herself, clutching her heart.

"Do you come to chide me?" Hamlet asked the late king, slumping guiltily.

"Do not forget," answered the ghost. "This visitation is but to remind thee. Look! Your mother sits in amazement. Step between her and her fighting soul. Speak to her, Hamlet."

Hamlet turned to his mother, who was indeed sitting with her mouth open in wonder and fear.

"How is it with you, lady?" said the princeapologetically, his brows knitting.

"Alas, but how is it with you?" gasped Gertrude, glancing at the wall again as if it would relieve her of her puzzlement. "You bend your eye on vacancy and with the air hold discourse! O gentle son! Where on you look?"

"On him! On him!" cried Hamlet, jabbing his finger impatiently. "Look you, how pale he glares! Do not look upon me," he added to the ghost. "Lest with piteous action you convert my stern effects."

"To whom do you speak this?" asked the queen breathlessly, an uncertain hand at her lips.

"Do you see nothing there?"

"Nothing at all!"

"Nor did you nothing hear?"

"Only our voices!"

"But look you there!" persisted Hamlet. "Look! Look how he steals away!"

And the ghost drifted again from the room.

Gertrude merely stared at Hamlet as if he'd lost his mind and shook her head. "This is the very coinage of your brain: this bodiless creation of yours is madness!"

"Madness!" scorned Hamlet. "It is not madness that I have uttered. Mother, for love of grace, confess yourself to heaven: repent what's past; avoid what is to come; and do not spread the compost of weeds to make them ranker."

"O Hamlet! Thou hast cleft my heart in twain . . ." Gertrude could not even bring herself to look at her son. She hung her head again and the blonde hair draped in her face.

"I must be cruel only to be kind," Hamlet said gently.

"What must I do?" the queen implored, her blue eyes wandering now to Hamlet's left elbow.

"Go not to my uncle's bed. Let the king tempt you not, pinch your cheek, call you _mouse _. . ." He scowled as he remembered his mother and uncle's constant giggling and fondling. "Essentially, I am not in madness but mad in craft. Twere good you let him know."

"Be assured," answered Gertrude, drawing herself upright until her blonde hair fell again on either side of her face. "If words be made of breath, and breath of life, I have no life to breathe what thou hast told me."

And she closed her eyes in despair. Her poor Hamlet! To have borne the burden of such a secret for so long. Claudius was a murderer! Alas! A shudder went through her as she thought of it.

"I must go to England, you know that?" the prince was saying.

Gertrude looked around and her heart pumped with dread. She had only just realized: if Claudius was her late husband's murderer, then Hamlet was in danger!

"Alack!" she cried, reaching out for Hamlet. "I had forgotten: tis so concluded on."

Hamlet clasped her outstretched hand affectionately and kissed it, making her smile through her tears.

"There's letters sealed, and my two school fellows – who I trust as adders fanged – bear the command. They must accompany me to my doom. Let them try. I will blow them to the moon! Mother, good night. Indeed – " and he turned to Polonius's still body now, "this counselor is now most still, most secret, and most grave, who was in life a prating knave. Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you . . . Good night, Mother . . ."

And Gertrude watched, frozen on the edge of the bed, as Hamlet dragged Polonius's limp body from the room.


End file.
